Convergence
by Koraden
Summary: Bean and his family are moved out of lightspeed and taken hostage by the Starways Congress. Then Ender's family gets involved. And a pair of twins, a result of a different convergence, begins investigating the true story of the Speaker for the Dead.
1. Julian

_Author's Note: _

_This is a post-CotM story, roughly a decade after its end or so. No direct contradictions exist to the original work as this fanfic stands now. The first chapter of this is a bit like a prologue, not a lot of action/dialogue, so bear with me. I would appreciate any comments on the work—this is my first attempt ever at fanfic._

_Disclaimer: _

_Most characters and the milieu are the exclusive property of OSC, the author, with only the plot of the fic, my liberties with the character Lena, and the twins my own work._

* * *

**Convergence**

**by Koraden**

Chapter One: Julian

* * *

Julian Delphiki stretched and rose from his bed, taking care to avoid banging his head on the doorframe as he walked underneath. A thousand years ago, on the planet Moctezuma where his children grew up, he had raised the ceilings of their ship to accommodate his size. Thankfully, he had stopped growing, due to the scientists of the world Ganges who had developed a countertherapy years ago. The genetic condition had been held in check for a good twenty subjective years, allowing him to settle on Moctezuma where he and his kids grew older in the illusion that they were safe from the effects of Anton's Key.

Unfortunately, there had been a relapse a while back, and the therapy had become useless. Julian had taken to spaceflight once more with his three children: Carlotta, who went by "Carli", Elena, who liked to be called "Lena", and Andrew, who used both of the nicknames "Ender" and "Andy", depending on whose company he was in at the time. But when the family left Moctezuma, Julian at the age of thirty-eight and his kids at somewhere around twenty-two, there were a couple of new passengers aboard the ship: Lena's twins, a son and a daughter, who had been born a few years earlier.

Julian adored his grandkids. But to have them go through life without a father was regrettable. Of course Lena was the type to fall in love within a matter of days, and of course she would strike up a relationship that was never looked for. Of course the man would be a wandering itinerant, and of course he would take off one day without ever knowing that he had fathered twins upon the girl who he'd known for only a couple of months.

So Lena's two children were doomed to a life without a father, unless she would settle down with someone else anytime soon. It wasn't likely. Because the family's genetic disease had relapsed, even in the little ones, their starship flight dragged on for months on end, with the family only briefly settling on a planet every now and then. The twins had only caught a few glimpses in their lifetimes of what a proper planet was like. Julian, as always, cursed himself for having offspring that would be doomed from the very start of their lives.

Lena's kids, to all outward appearances, didn't seem to realize there was anything abnormal about their lives. But Julian knew they weren't fooled. They were already five years old, subjectively, and frighteningly brilliant—more brilliant, he supposed, than himself or even his children at that age. He never quite knew what they were up to in the library of the ship, working on computers and typing who-knows-what, submitting caches to the ansible when they were on a planet and reading for hours on end the updated ansible information when the family took flight again.. The twins knew what a normal life was supposed to be like, for certain. They knew it wasn't normal to live out the majority of their lives in a metal box. They knew it wasn't normal to be so clever so young. They knew as well that it wasn't normal to not have a father.

Lena was always quiet on the subject of the father of her children. She had told Julian that he was a itinerant speaker for the dead, by the name of Andrew. He was traveling with his sister from planet to planet, and had visited Moctezuma to speak the deaths of a pair of well-known local Catholics. She didn't know exactly why the siblings did this planet-hopping, and Julian was furious that any man would just up and leave a woman he'd been seeing without any notice. But Lena pointed out that he had no idea she was pregnant, and that staying with her wouldn't have mattered much either, because the family took to flight again soon afterward. She said that she'd rather be happy knowing that the father of her children was free to wander where he pleased, and go where he wished, instead of having him be miserable, stuck with her in a little box with his in-laws and kids that he probably didn't want in the first place. She also snipped that before their relationship ever got intimate, Andrew had told her that he wouldn't stay very long, which of course caused Julian to rant about the idiocy of his own daughter.

Despite the questionable sanity of one or both of their parents, the twins were turning out well. Skya, the girl, reminded Julian of his former wife. She was full of fire and energy. Her eyes sparked with excitement, and she never held still for more than five minutes. A spaceship was insufficient for her boundless enthusiasm. She often pushed her twin brother around mercilessly, and would attempt to engage her uncle and aunt in any number of games. Often Skya became a holy terror around the place. If there was ever a girl who needed space to run, it was Skya, but that was the one thing she didn't have. She was like an energetic puppy, always getting into trouble.

Her twin, on the other hand, was nearly the opposite. Little Alexander had a way of not saying anything for long periods of time. He went by the nickname Sandy, and would just watch Skya as she performed her five-year old antics all over the ship. It was unsettling how he would do nothing but observe, peeking out at the world beneath locks of long blond-brown hair with his piercing blue eyes. Sandy was always quiet, and spent hours on the computer. Julian had the suspicion that his grandson was going to turn out to be an unparalleled genius. If he could ever get off the ship-of-doomed and get some real-life experience.

Although, Julian supposed, without the genetic defect Sandy wouldn't have been so intelligent. He was just surprised the trait hadn't been diluted any more than it had been. True, Skya and Sandy were far larger than he had been at their age, what with the final effects of the therapies, but their brainpower didn't seem to have diminished. If anything, it had increased. Whatever genes they had gotten from their father had either not affected the twins, or else had been overrun completely by the Delphiki-Arkanian genes. Skya Petra and Alexander Andrew Delphiki were brilliant.

> > > > >

Today, Julian walked to the controls of the ship, as usual, and checked to make sure all was well. The nav system seemed to be working fine…but something seemed odd about a planet they were approaching. He checked the ansible reports. That was it—it didn't exist in the ansible reports. Many of the planets the ship had passed recently weren't, for they were outside the bounds of the Starways Congress's explorations. The Delphiki crew had been riding the wave of the settlement frontier.

But this—this was strange. Last month, there had been no signs of signals from the planet. That was subjectively a month ago, of course, because Julian's ship did not approach as near to lightspeed as the newer ships of Starways's fleet, so around ten actual years had passed due to the relativistic effects. There were no mentions in any of the ansible reports, however, of colonization attempts in this direction anytime in the past decade. Somehow, though, an unreported group of intelligent beings had to have reached this planet between now and then. The speed was impossible. No one could have arrived at the planet that fast by conventional methods—no other planets were anywhere within ten lightyears of it.

So if the source of the signals wasn't a Starways group of people, what was it? Perhaps it was buggers, thought Julian. He had been as shocked as anyone a month ago—ten years ago—to hear that a hive queen survived. Maybe the buggers had reached a planet first. Problem was, the buggers didn't communicate through electromagnetic waves, and those were the signals Julian's nav system were picking up from this strange planet.

Suddenly, his ansible hookup flashed and a voice came over the speakers. "Spaceship 234.467-21IF, you are being moved out of lightspeed. Prepare for disembarkment on the planet Liberdade at Starways Standard Time 0840."

Julian simply stood there. 0840? That was in fifteen minutes. The planet was still fifteen lightyears away. But apparently, someone there was expecting him.

* * *

_Author's Endnote: Thank you for reading my first fanfic attempt. It would be spectacular if you would be willing to review my work—I would greatly appreciate it. More is on the way!_

_-Koraden_


	2. Tredje

_Author's Note: _

_This is a post-CotM story, roughly a decade after its end or so. No direct contradictions exist to the original work as this fanfic stands now. This second chapter has a lot of exposition in it, for which I apologize, but I wanted to get the information I needed to convey on encaixarse and Tredje into it. I would appreciate any comments on the work—this story of course is my first attempt ever at fanfic._

_Disclaimer: _

_Many characters and the general milieu are the exclusive property of Orson Scott Card, the author, with only the plot of the fic, my liberties with originals like Bean and his children, and characters like the twins, Tredje, and others my own work._

* * *

**Convergence**

**by Koraden**

Chapter Two: Tredje

* * *

Tredje was a good eight years old now, and he still wasn't allowed to leave Liberdade without an escort. His father merely waved off his many protests, telling him there would be plenty of time when he was _older_, starflight was _simple_ now, why couldn't he be satisfied with the _family_ trips to other planets, and all the other excuses adults supplied when they wanted their children to quit annoying them. Eventually, Tredje quit annoying him, in the hope this alternative would prompt Father to let him go on good behavior. But so far, no success.

In the meantime, Tredje would spend his idle hours at the docks where the ships came in. They were organized by the Starways Congress, overseen by the Starways Congress, even given the outdated name "docks" by the Starways Congress. It was all Tredje could do not to snicker whenever he walked past one of their officials, because he knew that all of this aggressive so-called oversight was meaningless. The only reason it existed was to convince citizens of the Hundred Worlds that Starways was in control of _encaixarse_, the new form of space travel. Of course they weren't; the planet Lusitania, where some of his relatives lived, had exclusive power over encaixarse and did not foresee sharing the secret of faster-than-light flight with the Congress anytime in the near future. However, they found it convenient to allow Starways its fictitious authority for the time being.

So whenever Tredje wanted to enter the docking area, he would pass through regulated Congress security and have his identity and citizenship checked. This was a new addition to starflight, for with the old, slower method of travel there were far fewer people choosing to travel interplanetarily. Instituting encaixarse had revolutionized transportation nearly as much as airplanes had, on Earth centuries ago. Suddenly, millions of people every day were taking advantage of this cheap, simple travel. There was one good thing to Starways' methods, Tredje reflected, and that was their almost-anal obsession with who was where at any given moment. They could keep track of the transportation system.

Once, Tredje had tried to sneak down to the docks to board a flight. Four years old, and he wanted to visit one of his pequenino friends, Roçador, on Lusitania. But the official at the gate noticed the out-of-place boy immediately, and called his father. Oh, the humiliation!

Although that wasn't as bad as the second time, a year later, when he had fooled the guard and actually boarded a box-like ship. Everything was going smoothly, until it was time to depart. The ship didn't move. It just didn't _go_. Turned out Tredje's father had notified the family on Lusitania that the little boy wasn't allowed to travel alone, and he had been recognized aboard the ship. There was helvete to pay when he returned home _that_ night.

About then, Tredje had come to the conclusion that his family was smarter than him, much to his consternation. He ceased his attempts to leave the planet Liberdade, and began to just visit the docks as an observer. It was a poor second to visiting Lusitania or other planets, but rather interesting in itself. The main spaceport of Liberdade had dozens of people passing through it every day. Many, of course, were simply members of the daily group that went to other planets to work, and some came to Liberdade frequently on business, but the most interesting were the people Tredje had never seen before, usually tourists, curious about the two other species of raman that they knew now coexisted peacefully with humans.

Tredje, having grown up among the forests of the pequenino and in the shadow of the Hive Queen, did not see raman as anything unique; they were people, just in a different shape. But he liked to watch tourists, gasping at their first sight of a worker, speaking to pequenino brothers in their native languages and enjoying it when the brothers began learning it and talking it back to them. Often there were children with these groups. However, Tredje had quickly discovered that, on the whole, other kids were a bit dull, and slower to pick things up. They were stupid compared to members of his own family. Therefore, while he played with them occasionally, when they left Liberdade he did not pine for them.

Today, Tredje was amusing himself by having a rock-paper-scissors contest with a French boy named Marin, who had come with his family from the colony Espérance and was now leaving Liberdade. Marin had picked up on the game quickly, and the score was now thirteen to eleven in his favor. Tredje especially liked rock-paper-scissors because he didn't have any advantage in it, and so he could easily play it with others his age.

Marin looked up to see his ship was about ready to leave; three minutes until departure.

"First to fifteen wins, Tredje," he told the other boy. "That means me."

"You just wait," said Tredje. "I live for pressure." He rested a fist on an open palm. "Ready?"

"Roche-Papier-Ciseaux!" chanted Marin, and then, "_Cursor_!"

"Point for me," grinned Tredje. "Paper covers rock."

Scowling, Marin pointed out, "You're still behind."

"Only by a point."

The two continued their game until Marin won, fifteen to thirteen, and then boarded a ship for home. Tredje stayed in the open commons of the port as he left. The day was far from over. Plenty of time to find someone else to play with before he had to go home to do homework.

Feeling hungry, the boy walked over to one of the little restaurants that circled the commons. "Hello, Tredje," smiled the manager. "Would you like a dessert?"

Tredje smiled back. Nearly every day, he came to the restaurant to pick up a treat. He had an agreement with the manager. Desserts were provided to him free of charge, and in return he would recommend the restaurant to the visitors he met at the docks. Surprisingly, it brought in quite a bit of business for the manager, and Tredje was satisfied with his pay.

"Thank you," he said, selecting a cookie. Chewing it as he walked away, he looked at the arrivals. Some freighters at the commercial ports, a business ship from Pacifica, even an arrival with the notation ST, for student trip. Tredje briefly wondered how old the students were, where they were going on Liberdade, and if he could sneak into their group. His musings were interrupted, however, by a new entry on the charts. It was arriving at Dock 1A, the biggest dock reserved for older ships, not the new kind designed especially for encaixarse. And even stranger, it had no planet of departure, only the notation OOT, which meant it was being shifted out of slower-than-lightspeed travel. Tredje had thought all interplanetary travelers had been shifted already; it was, after all, a decade since the shifts had began.

This was interesting. He hadn't seen this before. Altering his course, he swung to the right, headed for the old-docks, the big ones that were seldom used these days.

At 0838 he arrived. It was outside, and the spaceport had a ramp that extended down from the elevated first floor to a large concrete platform. The ramp was off-limits, so Tredje found a seat on the spaceport's outer walkway, a place to observe ship landings by people anticipating an arrival. Several officials had gathered at the foot of the ramp, waiting to welcome the ship. They seemed confused, uncertain about what to expect.

Tredje munched on his cookie. This was going to be good.

Precisely at 0840 Standard Time, the vehicle appeared. It wasn't like anything Tredje had ever seen before, not even in pictures of older spaceships. Certainly it wasn't standard Starways issue, and it wasn't even shaped like most private craft were. It was colored sky-blue, with a symbol of some organization on the side that the boy didn't recognize. He squinted.

"If?" he wondered aloud. What sort of ship had the word 'if' on it?

He waited and watched as a small group of people disembarked. Well, not exactly _small_; one of them was the biggest person Tredje had ever seen before. There were also three regular-sized people, and a couple of little ones he assumed were children, younger than him. Hurriedly, the Congress officials accosted them, and there was a lot of gesturing and exclamation going on below Tredje. The big man, whose voice he could distinguish because it was deeper than the others', seemed angry about something.

Eventually the group began to move up the ramp. Tredje was right, there were two children: a boy and a girl, who looked around curiously. When their eyes met his, he waved at them. They tentatively waved back.

"Get out of the way," ordered an official gruffly as the people got off the ramp. Obligingly, Tredje moved aside, watching as he did so. There were two men, including the tall one, and two women, one of whom was apparently the mother of both children, urging them along. The grownups all looked similar. Tredje thought they might be related. Nonchalantly, he swung into step behind the little convoy, balling up his cookie wrappings and tossing a shot between the two guards at the back of the group. It hit the shoulder of the little boy.

He turned and saw Tredje. Slowing his step, he tapped his sister, gradually falling behind the rearguard of the group but within the peripheral vision of the officials.

"What're your names?" Tredje quietly asked the pair.

The girl spoke up. "I'm Skya, and he's Sandy," she whispered.

"I'm Tredje. Where are you from?"

"We were born on Moctezuma," answered Sandy, checking to make sure the officials weren't paying attention. "But we're really from the ship. That's where we've been living for most of our lives. In flight."

Tredje gave a low whistle. "No kidding. That's _kuslig_. You've been on a ship for…how long subjectively?"

"We're five," said Skya, "but we've spent a couple months here and there planetside."

"So in reality, you'd be… what, a thousand years old?" Tredje asked incredulously.

"Roughly that, yeah," Sandy replied. "But our family's much older than that. They've been traveling for a long time."

"How long?"

"Since starflight began," said Sandy. "They haven't told us, but we've been able to guess. We're in a first-generation International Fleet messenger ship, after all."

"I.F." mused Tredje. "International Fleet. Not Inter_stellar_ Fleet. Inter_national_."

They had entered the building, and were heading toward the control center of the port. Reaching a door marked Personnel Only, the official in the lead keyed in a number, and the group began to enter. One of the guards turned to look at the trio. "You, kid! Don't you have somewhere to be?" he growled at Tredje.

"Not at the moment."

"Keep moving," the man told the twins, who glanced back at Tredje uncertainly before passing through the door. He winked at them to tell them he was okay. Then he sidled away from the door, the eyes of the guard following him all of the way into the commons and out past security, away from the docks. Actually, Tredje did have somewhere to be. Home, where he could tell his family about the strange arrival, and the ancient people who had traveled through space on a ship belonging to the International Fleet.

* * *

_Author's Endnote: Thank you for reading the second chapter of _**Convergence**_, my first fanfic attempt. It would be spectacular if you would be willing to review any part of my work, from conventions to plotline—I would greatly appreciate it. Keep a lookout for more in the near future!_


	3. Strategies

_Author's Note: _

_This is a post-CotM story, roughly a decade after its end or so (approximate year: 2010 Starways Code). No direct contradictions exist to the original work as this fanfic stands now. _

_Chapter Three is a transition chapter, designed to get the characters from one place to another, and thus is structured differently from the first two. Whereas "Julian" and "Tredje" were primarily narration, "Strategies" is more dialogue-based. For those readers who enjoyed my earlier style, I will probably revert to it again in future chapters._

_I would highly appreciate any comments on the work—this story of course is my first attempt ever at fanfic._

_Disclaimer: _

_Many characters and the general milieu are the exclusive property of Orson Scott Card, the author, such as Bean, Varsam, and the Delphiki-Arkanian children. Only the plot of the fic, my liberties with original characters, and new characters like the twins, Tredje, and others my own work._

* * *

**Convergence**

**by Koraden**

Chapter Three: Strategies

* * *

Julian was…perturbed. No, that was putting it mildly. He was furious. Whoever these people were, they had suddenly, without so much as a by-your-leave, snatched his family out of starflight and commandeered his ship. They kept telling him not to worry, for now space travel took no time at all, no more years-long voyages. Julian wanted to yell that he needed those voyages. He wanted the relativistic effects. And now they were refusing to even give him back the ship.

"You won't need it anymore," a bony man in Congressional garb insisted.

"Yes, I will," said Julian. "I need to travel with it."

The man shook his head, smiling. "Oh, no, there's no use for private ships unless you're with a shipping corporation. Besides, there aren't many ports with a dock that can handle a vehicle of that size. You'll be better off letting us compensate you for its cost. Then you can travel Starways Flight for free!" He beamed.

"I don't want to travel Starways Flight," said Julian simply. "I want to travel the normal way. Not breaking the laws of physics."

"We don't break the laws of physics, sir," grinned the official. "We follow philotic physics. And you wouldn't want to travel slower-than-light anyway. You'd have to be insane to want that."

Julian gritted his teeth. But before he could give the man proof of his insanity, he suppressed the urge. It would do no good to argue the point with a man who clearly had no control over the regulations. He needed to find someone in power who was in a position to hear him.

The official continued his spiel. "You wouldn't believe some of the lunatics we see now and then. Nutters, mostly. Want to live forever; there are a few who wouldn't mind that. Threats, requests, briberies, we see it all down here, and you just know the Starways blokes probably would have taken the richer ones up on it—senators and bribery, cats and catnip, eh?—but they couldn't if they wanted to, of course, not with boxflight…"

Julian's attention was caught, and he stopped the man. "Starways Congress doesn't control the ships?"

"Oh, heavens no," laughed the man. "I've asked, of course, how the ships work, got the 'philotics' answer from them, and they say the rest is Classified. But not only from me, you see? They have no idea either. There are some days where ships aren't flying, and others where flights get through that were never authorized, and Starways can't do a blamed thing about it."

"So who's doing it?" asked Andy, who had been eavesdropping. "Who controls spaceflight?"

"That's the big mystery, isn't it?" said the official, raising an eyebrow. "Myself, I don't care. I get paid on time and I don't ask questions. Why bother with the big boys? So long as there's peace, I'm taking full advantage." With that, the man went to a terminal to place a call.

"Why are all these officials here if Starways Congress doesn't even know how the ships work?" Andy whispered, leaning toward his father.

"The standard bureaucratic illusions," said Julian. "Nothing unique to Starways, by any means. What interests me is who actually does control the system."

The pair walked to where Julian's daughters and the twins were sitting, waiting to find out what their plan of action was. "So, are we stranded on this rock?" asked Carli. "At least we all know Portuguese; we'll fit right in."

"Is that what most people here speak?" wondered little Skya. "Sandy and I spoke to a boy earlier, and he used the word 'kuslig'. That's not Portuguese."

"If everybody's using these new ships," Sandy pointed out, "people can go anywhere they want. It's not just generally one type of people founding a colony anymore. People go anywhere they want, to any planet they want."

Skya's eyes lit up. "Any planet?"

Sandy realized what he'd said. "Yeah…any planet."

"Let's go to Earth!" suggested Skya, eagerly.

"Or Lusitania!" Sandy's eyes shone.

"One step at a time, kids," Lena smiled. "We may not be staying."

"For the time being, we are," sighed Julian. "At least until I can persuade someone to let us use the ship again. And to do that, we need to find out who that is—the someone who controls the ships."

The official came back from the terminal. "Awfully sorry about this, folks, but you're going to have to stay with us for a bit. We have a couple of rooms you can use right here at the port. Can't let you through until we know who you are, of course."

"Starways doesn't control the ships; it controls the people," said Andy wryly.

The official cheerily opened the door. "Of course, of course, the Congress owns you, it owns me, it owns everyone," he piped, gesturing for them to follow.

Leaving the room, Julian said quietly to his family, "Not the flight controllers. And not us, either."

> > > > >

Peering around the corner, Tredje cautiously snuck through his house. His goal was to log into his terminal to type everything up about the strange arrival before he forgot the exact details. Tredje's memory was fairly good, but he wanted to make sure he understood all the ramifications of what the twins had told him before he talked to the rest of his family.

Repeatedly, the boy had been discouraged from the important discussions that the adults held, because they had been alive enough to gain more information and experience than he had. It really wasn't fair, Tredje pouted, that just because he was born later, he knew less. This time, though, he would become an expert on the subject before he brought it up, and at least understand more of what his family said than usual.

A potential flaw to his plot was the fact that he hadn't finished his homework yet, a usual recipe for disaster as far as Tredje's personal plans were concerned. So he had to take extra care not to get caught sneaking back to his room.

Quietly, Tredje crept into the living room under the snores of his father, who was dozing on the couch. His mother was at her work, and his siblings were nowhere to be found. It was a perfect opportunity; he had timed it flawlessly. Each foot fell to the floor lightly, with the utmost care. He kept his breathing slow and quiet.

When Tredje reached the hallway, he paused to check on his father. He seemed to be sleeping soundly. Edging along the hallway, the boy reached out to the handle of his door…and quickly shut it behind him. He let out a deep breath. Safe. Heart slowing down, he turned toward his terminal.

And let out a strangled yeeping noise.

Sitting in front of the terminal, twirling idly around on Tredje's spinchair, was his uncle, who smiled at him. "So, the little homework-shirker returns."

"I was coming back to do it just now."

His uncle raised an eyebrow. "Don't give me that load of smörja. You slunk in here as guilty as the cat who gulped the canary. But happily, I was here to make sure you didn't get sidetracked from your homework. Start cracking." He stood up and offered Tredje the chair.

"I have something to do first," Tredje told him, sitting down and logging on. It would be just his luck to have his uncle visiting on the day when he finally found out something important that just couldn't _wait_ for homework. It was silly, anyway. Nothing Tredje did was like the homework other kids brought back from school. He was assigned whatever his parents felt like assigning him. And then, of course, uncles and aunts and cousins and whoever else would look at his work, and point out problems they saw with it. It was humiliating.

"You can't keep putting off that essay on Dacrodi's political situation. Your grandmother's been waiting to see it," his uncle said behind him.

"Dacrodi's been a svimmat for two hundred years, Uncle Varsam. Surely the essay can wait two hours," Tredje snipped, accessing his copy of the port's official arrival schedule.

"Two hours?" Uncle Varsam raised an eyebrow. "Do you know how many political conflicts have exploded into open war in less time than that?"

Tredje frowned at the terminal. The port schedule showed no arrivals at Dock 1A. No arrivals at 0840 whatsoever. He keyed in a few more commands. Nothing. However, Tredje had hacked the entire local system a couple years back, and he checked the deletion logs. Sure enough, approximately ten minutes after Sandy and Skya's group docked, there had been a major erasal of scheduling files, enough to encompass the disappearance of an entire ship. Apparently the port authority didn't want anyone to find out about the strange arrival.

That worried Tredje. Docking files were very rarely deleted, and he had never seen it done in bulk like this. Either Starways' port officials were curious about the newcomers, and had them imprisoned somewhere, or they were concerned, and never wanted any record of the flight to exist. Then it would be a moot point if the fliers themselves existed at all. In both cases, the situation was cause for concern.

"You can't just ignore me, you know," said Uncle Varsam, who was standing behind the boy.

"Go away," Tredje mumbled. "I'm busy." He checked the deletion logs again.

Suddenly, his uncle spun the chair, hard, so that Tredje flew off it completely and landed on the floor. "Ouch," the boy objected.

"Homework," ordered Uncle Varsam.

"You're not my father."

"Your father, kid, is taking a well-deserved rest from his little hooligan offspring, including you, so I've taken it upon myself to keep you _rackare_ in line. Your sisters have finished their homework and are playing outside. Your baby brother is sleeping and not old enough for homework anyhow. It's just you and me, råbock, so suck it up and work, already."

"Styrka jag , om du er sådan den stor man."

"If I was your father, I would swat you for that lip, kid. But because I'm such an understanding individual, I'll just pretend I didn't hear that side comment and let you get one with your work." Uncle Varsam glanced at the terminal. "Have you been hacking port files again?"

Tredje groaned inwardly. It was clear his uncle wasn't going to let him avoid homework without a good reason. Which meant, of course, that he'd have to tell about the ship. It was, he supposed, best that he brought it up soon anyway. But a tiny part of him grumbled at giving up the advantage of knowing at least one little scrap of information no one else in his family knew.

"You've got to quit this obsession with the docks, Tredje. In a couple years we'll ease up on you a bit, let you travel alone. Let it go. Right now there's no point in walking down there every day and hacking their files and skipping your homework."

"Yes, there is," Tredje argued.

"Why work if it doesn't pay?"

"It paid off. Today. About a half-hour ago, in fact." Tredje was irritated enough at his uncle to give up his information, more out of spite than from any urge to help the strangers. "A ship was moved out of lightspeed. An old ship. So old it was owned by the _International_ Fleet."

Uncle Varsam stared at Tredje. "What?"

"There was a family aboard," Tredje told him, "and I talked to a couple of kids. They said they were a thousand years old. And they reckoned the rest of the group has to be about three times that, from when interstellar flight began. Isn't that kuslig? There didn't seem to be anything wrong with them though, the kids seemed normal. Except there was this one guy; he was huge. I didn't get to talk to him, though…"

"Whoa, there." His uncle held up a hand. "Are you sure about all this? Is this some scheme to get out of your homework again?"

Tredje turned red. "No!" he protested. "They were there, that's why I looked at the logs, but the record's been deleted, so Starways officials must be holding them, and they're probably in some kind of trouble…" He trailed off.

For a moment, his uncle studied him. Then the man moved to the door and opened it, leaving without a word. Tredje sat back on his chair, looking again at the flight records. Uncle Varsam apparently woke his father, for he could hear voices from the living room.

After a few minutes, Varsam came back. "Come on," he told Tredje, leaning around the doorframe.

"Where are we going?" asked the boy.

"To Lusitania."

* * *

_Author's Endnote: Thank you for reading thethird chapter of _Convergence_, my first fanfic attempt. It would be spectacular if you would be willing to review any part of my work, from conventions to plotline to voice—I would greatly appreciate it. Keep a lookout for more in the near future!_


	4. Living

_Author's Note: _

_This is a post-CotM story, roughly a decade after its end or so (approximate year: 2010 Starways Code). No direct contradictions exist to the original work as this fanfic stands now. _

_Chapter Four is a return to narration-based writing, in third person viewpoint. Also introduced in this chapter is a religious faction with certain beliefs that run against those of the religion it sprung from. I hope that it doesn't offend any readers, and would like to urge that it is completely fictional and a result of the world of this story, and does not reflect the beliefs of anyone I know in any way._

_I would highly appreciate any comments on the work—this story of course is my first attempt ever at fanfic._

_Disclaimer: _

_Many characters and the general milieu are the exclusive property of Orson Scott Card, the author, such as Bean, Varsam, and the Delphiki-Arkanian children. Only the plot of the fic, my liberties with original characters, and new creations like the religious sect of this chapter my own work._

* * *

**Convergence**

**by Koraden**

Chapter Four: Living

* * *

Varsam sent a message to Jane requesting a flight to Lusitania, and then set off walking out to the port with his brother and Tredje. He was interested in this phantom flight that the boy had witnessed and was happy to have some excitement back in his life again.

Since he was sixteen and the Lusitania Rebellion came to an end, Varsam had discovered a lack of excitement in his world. More importantly, he discovered a need for adventure in himself. On Trondheim, he was the youngest of four—two sisters and a brother. He had thought excitement was meddling in the world of the intellectuals, following his mother's example as a rabble-rouser, a political demagogue. Then Varsam had arrived on Lusitania.

There, he was thrust into deadly viruses, alien associations, and frantic research. There, a race for faster-than-light flight was run against the threat of annihilation. The fate of worlds, of peoples, lay with his family and the citizens of Lusitania. _That_ was true excitement. That was _living_.

Since that time, Varsam had come to the realization that his parents had done a poor job of naming him. In Nordic, _varsam_ meant "cautious". Varsam was anything but. He began looking for thrills, for challenges.

At first, he joined the group researching the descoladores, but that adventure quickly passed when he determined they were taking baby steps with the unknown people. For a while, Varsam stayed in limbo, attempting various occupations. But soon the challenge faded, or the tasks became repetitive, or Varsam found the people he met on some jobs stupid or boring.

When he turned eighteen, he found the life for him. Politics. Not hiding behind a pseudonym, writing essays, but getting _human_ contact, talking with people face to face. Wang-Mu's husband Peter, who Varsam was never sure whether to call an uncle or a cousin, battled in the halls of the Starways Congress. He had become a senator through a mixture of persuasion and cunning, using the fact that Lusitania needed representation as an excuse. Because neither pequininos nor hive queens wished to be senators in Starways, Varsam's 'uncsin', as he called him, was the only Lusitanian in the Congress, under the name Peter Si.

It had to be obvious, the resemblance between "Senator Si" and Hegemon Peter Wiggin, the man who united Earth, yet nothing was said. "They think I'm a clone," Peter told Varsam when he asked, "but because my predecessor was a political mastermind, they hope I can smooth out the whole raman situation, and let me be."

In any case, Peter existed in the complicated midst of a politician's life. It changed on a daily basis, carried a certain amount of risk, and provided interaction with other people on the same level.

When Varsam asked Peter if he could help out, Peter gave him a job as his aide. At first, it angered Varsam because Peter, by most estimates, was only a couple of years older than him and _he_ got to be a senator. As his uncsin pointed out, though, the Congress may accept a twenty-year old Peter Wiggin clone, but not a teenage unknown. Aides did get access to all that the senators did, and spent even more time talking to other politicians. In addition, many young people just out of school became aides through internships and family connections. Varsam agreed.

For eight years, Varsam worked with Starways. By now the novelty had worn off, and the job, although still interesting, was no longer exciting. As far as he was concerned, it was about time something new came into his life.

> > > > >

Sandy was collared by his mother just seconds before he rushed out of the port after his sister. "Mom!" he objected, struggling. "I'm just going to play outside!" It was the fourth day since the family had arrived on Liberdade, and the twins were allowed to go outside with a guardian to play in the port's grounds.

"Don't I get a hug today?" asked his mother. "First thing in the morning, and you dash outside. I know I won't see you until the afternoon." She squeezed him tightly.

Wriggling, Sandy worked his way out of the hug. "I'll be back in a while, Mom," he panted.

"I know," she smiled, tousling his hair. "Go have fun."

The boy resumed his race to the exit. He couldn't run very fast; interstellar flight had left him unconditioned for living planetside. Planetside. Sandy grinned. Finally, it looked like he would be staying for a while.

Sandy had figured out how the worlds worked from a computer, a new-age terminal assembled on Moctezuma that was the prime of its day. What else do you spend a couple of millennia's interest on? Even the modest amount left from his grandfather's pension made sure there was money to burn. So the terminal had a high-quality digital-holographic display that could simulate to within a five cubic meter's space with millions of colors and an estimated ninety-five percent accuracy on textures with an optional solidity sim that varied from transparent to thickly opaque. That, along with his earliest memories, had been the world for most of Sandy's life.

The few visits he had taken to planet surfaces had seemed to be unreality to Sandy. It was nothing like the terminal's simulations. It was absolute chaos all at once, assaulting his senses with vivid colors, crazy noises, new textures, real smells, and strange tastes. The _real_ world was orderless! The real world was mad! The real world was _fantastic_!

And then he always had to go back to the ship, back to the terminal, back to the boring business of staying alive. It was horrible—out there was wonder and disorder and discovery, and Sandy never wanted to leave it. Each time it was harder to tear himself away, even though he knew that to stay meant a young death.

But surely, surely _any_ span of life out in the worlds would be worth whatever it cost. Sandy had prodded Skya to ask his grandfather about it—he never questioned Julian himself—and the reply was always, I've lived there, and I know it's wonderful, but if we stay on the ship and a cure comes we can have even more time to enjoy it.

That didn't satisfy Sandy. They were running out of time to live as it was. Uncle Andy, who had gone into genetics, supposed that without treatment, the twins would live to about twenty or so. His mother and her siblings would be somewhere around thirty. Julian only had a year or two left.

Sandy, however, did not want to spend the last fifteen years of his life cooped up in a little flying prison. That may have been just fine for the rest of them, but why bother? There had been thousands of years for a cure to be discovered, and though Julian assured them that the research was continuing and the fund was protected, Sandy could see he had lost any hope he may have once had. The reason his grandfather traveled, the boy guessed, was not because he couldn't face his own death, but because he couldn't face the deaths of his children. Julian wanted to spend the rest of his life knowing that perhaps his children still had the hope he had lost.

Sandy did not share that hope, and he had his own ideas. After leaving Faţă, the last planet they had visited, he had decided that the next time his family went to ground, he would not get back on the ship again. There had been obvious flaws with this decision, of course, but he had planned to try it anyway, confiding in his sister, who liked the idea.

But now—things looked very promising. Julian could try to get the ship back, labeling himself as a lunatic along the way, but even if he did, Sandy was sure there were plenty of ways to get the protection of the officials. It might hurt his grandfather, and his mother too, and he'd be in a lot of trouble, but Sandy was not going to leave Liberdade unless _he_ wanted to.

So while his grandfather steamed, obviously angry at these people but trying to keep it from his family, Sandy was rejoicing. Other people fascinated him. Humankind fascinated him. That was why he spent hours in the library and on the terminal while he was aboard. He studied people with a passion. All of these strangers, living their lives, every life different, making different choices because of different motives, different reasons, and yet all connected to one another. Sandy wanted to meet these people face to face.

Since realizing that he now had a chance to live planetside, Sandy had a new goal—not just to study humankind, but to _join_ humankind. How to do that, though? Skya could jump in and talk to practically anyone. Sandy tended to be more cautious. He wanted to know a person before he talked to them—he didn't like not knowing. Knowing was good. It was safe.

But being suddenly thrust into actual human contact meant the end of safety, of knowing. It terrified Sandy even as it thrilled him. Sometimes it felt like there were two parts to his personality: the analytical, rational, calculating observer, and the impulsive, spontaneous, daredevil dreamer. It was hard to balance the two, especially here with unfamiliar people, where the impulse-driven side of him took over.

So Sandy followed his sister's lead, and went outside to play, running about in huge empty space, grass under his feet, sky overhead, not caring about death or worries or anything but living, just being a regular five-year-old boy.

"What took you so long?" asked Skya, when he made it outside. The official who watched them sat on a bench not far away, dozing. As long as they talked low, they could say what they wanted without being overheard. It was one of the things Julian had warned them about—don't act as if we're any different from other people, or they might worry about us.

"Mom made me hug her," said Sandy, making a face.

"Well, it's not like you talk to her very much. You don't talk to anyone very much," Skya said. "It makes them worry about you."

"Just because I choose to be quiet doesn't mean I don't have things to say. You talk enough for the both of us," Sandy teased.

Tackling him down to the grass, Skya tickled him all over. "You'll pay for that, Alexander Delphiki!" she squealed. For some time after, they played in the sun, and finally decided to go inside. "I'm turning pink," noted Skya with dismay.

"That's called sunburn," Sandy said. "Didn't you put on any of that stuff to keep from burning?"

"I forgot. Look, it turns white where I touch it," giggled Skya. "Probably going to hurt later, though. We should probably get inside."

Sandy glanced over at their guardian, who was sound asleep. "I wanted to get back to the terminal. Look over that thing we found a couple weeks ago. You know, the one about the Speaker for the Dead." He was referring to an interesting sect the twins had discovered while on the ship, a strange group claiming the original Speaker had divinity.

"Yeah," Skya agreed. "We haven't looked at that in a couple days." She also glanced at the official. "Let's leave him here. He seems happy."

> > > > >

The twins had been given a room to themselves, complete with terminal. "They have a new name," Skya noticed. "The Church of the Second Christ."

Sandy snorted. "Five relative years ago, they only claimed the Speaker was heavenly. Now they think he's God."

"I bet the other Christians have problems with this," Skya smirked. "I bet a load of people have problems with this."

Sandy looked over the faith's belief statement. Apparently they believed that the Speaker for the Dead was actually the Christian savior Jesus Christ come back to humankind to unite them with other people of God's creation, the hive queens and pequininos, and help them gain a deeper understanding of themselves through the story of Hegemon Peter Wiggin, the ultimate case of a human redeeming himself.

"That's silly," said Skya, reading over his shoulder. "Why are they claiming Peter Wiggin is now the ideal human being? They didn't think that a little while ago."

"I suppose they had to fit the book the Hegemon into their belief somewhere," decided Sandy. "It was written by the Speaker, after all." He scanned through more of their public records. And did a double-take. "_What_?"

"What?" asked Skya, wondering what he'd seen.

"Read from that sentence," Sandy said, pointing it out to her, eyes wide.

"'It is the belief of this faction that upon the second coming of the Speaker-Christ, when He spoke of our brothers the pequininos, He looked upon the corruption mankind had once more become, so long after the life of Hegemon Peter, and saw despair. In His infinite love for man, He stretched forth a hand to Heaven and once more set the great Peter Wiggin upon soil, to guide the human race a second time toward unity…'" Skya stopped.

"Where do they get a reincarnation of the Hegemon from?" wondered Sandy. "Has someone actually stepped forward and said, 'I'm Peter Wiggin, so listen up'?"

"That's _really_ weird," Skya agreed. "They would have to have someone to point to and call the second Hegemon Peter, otherwise this statement would make no sense. And people must _believe_ them, because this group is growing every day with new believers."

The twins continued to read through the documents for the rest of the day.

> > > > >

Julian had just finished breakfast when three officials walked in the door. Their uniforms proclaimed high ranks, and their faces were grim. He instinctively placed himself between them and his family. "Good morning. Do you need help with something?"

One of them, a short man with steel-gray hair and eyes to match, stepped forward. "I am Captain Cattivo of the Congressional Investigative Division. As of now, you and your fellow passengers of the ship 234.467-21IF are under arrest for indication of threat to the Starways Congress."

* * *

_Author's Endnote: Thank you for reading my first fanfic attempt. It would be spectacular if you would be willing to review my work—I would greatly appreciate it, especially as I have introduced new concepts and characters in this chapter that I haven't before. Look for more in the near future!_

_-Koraden_


	5. Pains

_Author's Note: _

_This is a post-CotM story, roughly a decade after its end or so (approximate year: 2010 Starways Code). No direct contradictions exist to the original work as this fanfic stands now. _

_Chapter Five introduces a couple of main conflicts to the plot, and should spice things up a little from the steady flow of narration you've been seeing so far. __I would highly appreciate any comments on the work—this story of course is my first attempt ever at fanfic._

_Disclaimer: _

_Many characters and the general milieu are the exclusive property of Orson Scott Card, the author, such as Bean, Peter, Varsam, and the Delphiki-Arkanian children. Only the plot of the fic, new creations, and my liberties with original characters like Peter, are my own work._

* * *

**Convergence**

**by Koraden**

Chapter Five: Pains

* * *

Peter had a headache. The Congress session had resulted in a free-for-all yelling contest. His proposed resolution had made no progress. Various worlds wanted him to speak in the support of raman, the press wanted interviews, his peers wanted advice, his family wanted him home. Varsam had mentioned some kind of problem in the encaixarse system. And to top it all off, now Peter had a headache.

It was probably overwork, Peter thought to himself. Over the past week or two he had gotten reoccurring pains in his head, and medication didn't seem to help. It wasn't a surprise; he was trying to juggle any number of things right now. Wang-Mu had been pestering him, scolding him for spending so much time at work, that he was killing himself with the stress of it. For once Peter agreed. Some days it felt like his life was one huge tug-of-war tournament, with his brain threatening to tear itself in two. He grumbled inwardly.

Of course, as his inward-turned self was whining, his outward-turned self was smiling, conversing with other senators, apparently pleased at the conclusion of the Congress session. Peter often liked his two tracks of attention, usually using one to focus on the physical tasks at hand and the other to think. He always had time to think about anything he wanted to. It was quite superior to "one-track minds", as he called everyone else's thought processes.

Two attention tracks did have their weak points, though. Like now, thought Peter as he griped to himself. He could never "take his mind off something" because of his double consciousness. For the ten years of his existence, Peter had never succeeded in turning off both of his attentions at once.

There was no rest for the weird, Peter thought.

Suddenly his thought-self was signaled by his action-self, which had noticed that a man in the garb of a minister wanted to talk to him. It looked like one of those crazies who thought Ender was Jesus or something. It's worship time, thought Peter.

"Peter Wiggin," smiled the man, arms spread in greeting. "What a pleasure to meet you!" He was young, perhaps mid-twenties, with a shock of ginger hair and a lean body. Every freckle of him oozed enthusiasm. Peter shuddered inwardly.

"I am not Peter Wiggin," he corrected the minister. "My name is Peter Si."

Ginger-hair smirked, nudging Peter as if they shared a secret. "Of course you are!" he laughed. "The Hegemon himself, too modest to use his true name! You truly deserve your second life!"

Peter gritted his teeth in a grin. "You're too kind. What is your…organization, again?"

"The Church of the Second Christ warmly welcomes you, Hegemon," the man said, bowing briefly with a bob of his orange hair. "We extend an invitation to you to speak to an assembly of our members at a time and place of your choosing. It would greatly please us to have your address."

Peter flung an arm around the minister's neck, as much as it reviled him, with a smile. "But I couldn't possibly," he whispered. "No one is supposed to know the purpose of my return, you see. It would expose my…inner divinity." He winked conspiratorially.

Ginger-hair's eyes widened. "Of course, of course. But surely, one address to select members of the church…"

"No exposure," said Peter flatly, removing his arm. "I would deeply regret it." And I would, his second self thought, if these lunatics convinced one of my opponents to get a DNA sample or something. They wouldn't prove a resurrection, but cloning is illegal throughout the Hundred Worlds. What a mess, the scandal that could come from that.

"It is a great pity," said the young minister, "but we respect your situation. The offer will stand if ever you wish to accept it. May you continue to better humanity with your presence." He nodded respectfully, and departed.

Peter finally returned to his senatorial office a few minutes later. Pouring a glass of water, he turned on the terminal to look at the daily news. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead.

"You look like you walked headlong into a brick wall, my dear uncsin," came a voice from his terminal. "Was it really that bad?"

Peter sighed. "You're lucky aides don't have to attend the sessions, Varsam. You'd be tearing out chunks of that pretty hair of yours. We wouldn't want that now, would we?" He keyed his terminal to accept the call.

Varsam's visual showed up, and he gave Peter the benefit of shaking out his tousled white-blond hair. "It is pretty, isn't it?" the young man grinned. "Very Nordic."

"Stunning," Peter agreed blandly. "Where were you? Just because you don't have to come doesn't mean _I_ don't want you with me. Starways was about to start World War Three in there."

"World War Three? Which world?"

Peter groaned. Some days, he just wanted to shoot Varsam. Days when he wondered why he accepted him as an aide. "Never mind. I could have used your help, is all."

"Didn't you get my message earlier?" Varsam asked.

"You do realize I'm fighting for systems-wide raman rights that could reform all of human society here." Peter leaned back in his chair and took a long drink of water.

"Point being?"

Peter sighed. "I don't have _time_ to read a gazillion little memos."

"Come on, uncsin. You're the Memo King. If you unclenched enough to relax, little memos would fly out your kolv."

"Thanks, Varsam. Of course I saw your message. Something about the starflight system, right? Some anomaly in the records?" Peter yawned.

"A ship from the International Fleet was moved out, and Starways apparently doesn't want anyone to know about it. We've got essays about flight security and secrecy coming out from Lusitania, and Ren and I are going to snoop around the scene of the crime. I'm also going to ask our contacts in the Congress about it, see what turns up."

Immediately Peter sat up straight. "International Fleet? Why didn't you mention _that_ little fact to me earlier?" he demanded. "I'll get right to…"

"No, you won't. You're overworked as it is. One of these days your brain'll explode with the stress of it."

"Don't worry about me exploding."

"I don't. I worry about you going insane." Varsam frowned at Peter.

"Who says I'm not insane already?" Peter thought of the two little voices inside his head.

"Just take it easy for a while, okay? You've been acting strange lately. People have noticed you're not yourself. Maybe you should take a vacation, get some rest. You aren't _really_ here to save mankind, no matter what those new-age religious loonies say."

"I talked to one of them today," said Peter.

"Where did they come from, anyway? Some of the things they put into their faith…those are family secrets, who would know them?" Varsam asked.

"It probably sprung up around the planets settled from Lusitania when the threat of the Little Doctor was coming. Scared people, who'd heard things, and pequininos who were fans of Ender, trying to explain what was happening. I think we encouraged it at first, you know, as a way to show him in a positive light…now it's out of control. There's just enough truth to their stories to suck in new converts." Peter rubbed his head. "What kind of headache medicine do you use? None of mine are working."

"Go see a doctor, uncsin. And take a break."

"I'll take that under advisement, Varsam. Talk to you later." Peter switched off the call.

> > > > >

Skya sighed in exasperation. "Who writes like this?" The twins had been poring over documents of the Church of the Second Christ for three hours now. They hadn't taken a break since Julian, their grandfather, had stopped by to check up on them. It was tedious work. In an attempt to sound authentic, the writers of the documents had tried to write traditionally, in the manner of older church documents.

Usually, Skya didn't go in for research and computer work. But when Sandy had started obsessing over the cult, she couldn't help but get involved. Her twin wasn't passionate about many things, or at least if he was, he gave no outward sign for most of them. From what she knew, he tended to lean toward the human psyche, figuring out what made a person tick. He also was fixated on the writings of the Speaker for the Dead, which was probably how he got sucked into this research in the first place.

The more the twins looked into the topic, the more Skya wondered if Sandy was not quite as removed as he wanted her to think. He seemed to thirst more and more for the beliefs of the Church of the Second Christ, although he assured her that they were ridiculous and contradictory. As time wore on, Skya became more caught up in the research not just because of the subject matter, but because of Sandy's reaction to the subject matter. When her brother was passionate about something, it was usually important.

"Well, we've still learned something," said Sandy.

"Yeah, the Speaker's a great and terrible God," sighed Skya. Their research of the afternoon had lead to another odd belief of the church. "According to them, the Speaker was the one who judged the Formics unworthy and destroyed them."

Sandy snorted. "That would be Ender's jeesh," he said, "along with the International Fleet and Triumvirate."

"Who said religious cults have to make sense?" Skya stretched her arms behind her head, turning away from the terminal. She walked over to her bed and flopped onto it.

Sandy mused, "They certainly are resurrection-happy. First Jesus, then the Hegemon, and now the Hive Queen, too."

"First God wipes out the Formics, and then He resurrects them. What are these people thinking?" Skya rubbed her neck in exasperation.

"No, God wipes out the Formics and Jesus 2.0 brings them back," Sandy corrected her.

"Okay. So God wipes out the Formics, and the Speaker brings back both them and Peter Wiggin."

"Right," said Sandy.

"Are we dealing with sane people?"

Sandy looked away from the terminal and rubbed his eyes. "I don't know. I mean, the resurrection of the Hive Queen could be figurative, like the Speaker 'brought her back to life' in his book and the minds of whoever read it. That actually makes some sense."

Bouncing up from the bed, Skya began to pace. It was always hard for her, sitting still. Action allowed her to think clearer. "They sound like they mean an actual dead-to-alive deal. And there are Formics again, after all. Maybe the Speaker for the Dead did bring them back," Skya thought out loud. "Not from the dead, but maybe he found some that didn't get killed the first time around and saved them or something."

Sandy groaned. "What a mess."

"So why bother with it?" Skya asked. Pausing in her pacing, she looked at her brother, waiting for an answer.

"Because it seems important. Beliefs don't come out of thin air. They're usually based on something in reality. The Greeks made a deity for every aspect of their lives they couldn't control. Jesus was a real person at some point. This story came from somewhere, and I think there's probably a lot of truth in it."

"Yeah, the Speaker waves his hand and up pops Peter Wiggin."

"You know what I mean." Sandy rubbed his eyes. He heard a knock from the door in the main room. "I wonder who's visiting?"

The twins heard voices from the room, and suddenly there was yelling. The two kids went absolutely still. There was a loud shout, and the sound of impact. Someone had been flung against the wall. Crashes came, one after the other. Then a cry of pain, a woman's voice.

"Mom," whispered Skya.

She looked at Sandy, who switched off the terminal. Sounds of fighting continued in the other room. Without words, the kids scanned their sparse room, looking for the safest place. Quickly, they crawled under Skya's bed, huddling together.

Julian's loud voice rang out in anger, and several male voices answered. Footsteps shuffled across the floor. There was a thump, as if someone had fallen to the floor. More yelling. And suddenly a sharp noise, something Skya had never heard before but one that made her shiver. Sandy let out a soft sob. She looked at him. "It's a gun," he said quietly. "One that stuns or kills." He pressed close to Skya, shivering.

The noise came again, a couple times. And again. And then there was silence.

"We have to get out of here," Skya hissed. "They've done something to our family."

"Killed them," whimpered her twin.

"Don't be stupid. You said the gun can stun, right? I bet that's what happened. The bad people wanted Julian to do something, and he wouldn't, and they fought, and they stunned him. Plus Mom and Andy and Carli. So now…"

"They'll come for us," said Sandy with a shudder. "You're right. We need to leave."

"There's no way out of the room," Skya told him. "Only the door that leads to where the stunners are."

Sandy nudged her. "Remember what Julian always does? He looks for an escape route, he's done it since he was real little. The day we came to the rooms, they wanted to put Andy and him in this one, because the ceiling was higher. But he said no. He knew there wasn't a way out for them."

"That doesn't help us," hissed Skya. "And if he loves us so much, why did he tell us to take this room, where there _isn't_ a way out? He _told_ us to use this one." Then she thought of something. "You said there wasn't a way out for them. Julian and Andy. But is there a way out for _us_?"

"Because the ceilings are so high, they're above the level of the air circulation system in the other rooms. Which means the ducts are on the floor. Julian even pointed them out to me a couple days ago. He said, 'They're almost the same type as the ones I used to sneak around in Battle School. Maybe even bigger.'"

Skya gripped his arm. "He was telling you how to get out!" She listened for a minute. "They haven't started looking for us yet. Where are the vents?"

Sandy smiled. "I'm lying on one." He shifted so she could see it. It was quite large, but it would be uncomfortable. Together, the twins tugged the cover off and looked at one another, ready to go. Skya laughed.

"You know, these officials should know better by now. Three thousand years later, and they haven't even screwed in the vent covers."

* * *

_Author's Endnote: Thank you for reading my first fanfic attempt. It would be terrific if you would be willing to review my work—Reviews let me know what to write for you guys! Tell me what you think, and look for more in the near future!_

_-Koraden_


	6. Decisions

_Author's Note: **"I have returned!"**_

_This is a post-CotM story, roughly a decade after its end or so (approximate year: 2010 Starways Code). No direct contradictions exist to the original work as this fanfic stands now. __Chapter Six marks my return to this story, which I haven't updated in months now. I'm a little rusty, so let me know how this chapter works in the story. It just nudges the plotline along a bit._

_Disclaimer_

_Many characters and the general milieu are the exclusive property of Orson Scott Card, the author, such as Peter, Varsam, and others.. Only the plot of the fic, new characters and creations, and my liberties with original characters like Varsam, are my own work._

* * *

**Convergence**

**by Koraden**

Chapter Six: Decisions

* * *

Tredje was angry.

"I can't believe this!" he complained to Drew. Drew Si, his cousin-or-something-like-that, was five. Tredje was walking with him along the edge of a stream in Milagre. Normally Tredje wouldn't bother ranting to him…but none of the adults were listening.

"I'm the one who saw the ship in the first place. I'm the one who told them about it. And now? Now they push me out of the real business and make me just go and play somewhere. It's ridiculous! They're treating me like…like…"

"Like a kid?" Drew sat in the grass at the edge of the stream. "Well, what do you expect?" He splashed his feet in the water.

"But I'm probably one of the smartest kids around! I could outsmart some adults if I wanted to!" Tredje snapped a blade of grass and held it like a moustache over his face. "Who cares if I'm eight?"

Taking the blade of grass, Drew moved it through the water, watching the ripples. "You're right, that we're probably the smartest kids," he assented. A watersnake swimming by inspected the grass piece.

"Right!" Tredje exclaimed.

"But you forget—our parents are the smartest adults."

- - - - - -

Varsam was only half-listening to the conversation. It had long since dissolved into a debate over the delicate power-relations with Starways. The encaixarse ships were, technically, under the Congress's jurisdiction, but various committees oversaw different aspects, and the department designated to directly manage the system was too far removed for any of Peter's political connections.

Of course the whole system was created by the Lusitanians originally, and of course Jane was the one making it work, but the bureaucracy of the Congress necessitated that this fact never be spoken of. None of the Starways higher-ups wanted to admit that they had no control of the transportation system.

Varsam sighed. The traditional higher-ups actually had no control of anything now, but they just couldn't see it. In reality, the raman-friendly people, those of Lusitania and the Luso Colonies—the worlds settled by Lusitanians during the Second Xenocide scare—had the power. Lusos held many top positions in the Congress. There was a Luso on nearly every committee. His uncsin himself was now in a key position of seniority in Starways, a status so high that he had become the de facto leader of a huge majority.

From this, Varsam, and most of the Lusos involved in Starways, had figured out the next move. Everything over the past decade had been carefully shifted, prodded into the right position. All that was needed was a choice between two possibilities.

Lusos could take over Starways. A massive sweep, in which the raman factions would suddenly become the leaders of the Congress.

Or destruction. Obliterate Starways; destroy it so completely that nothing remained. Then create a new governing body.

Varsam wasn't especially keen on either. If Starways remained in its current form, but with different leaders, its essential flaws too would stay. But utter destruction was scary as helvete. Who know how the billions would react? The Hundred Worlds could dissolve into war. It would be a short war, if the Lusos stopped the transportation system and took over by force. But it would be a miserable situation afterward. Yet most of the Lusos agreed with one of these two options.

Even his closest Congress connections didn't know of the third plan, the secret one. It required the most subtle machinations, the most gentle tweaks. Some of his mother's family knew, and the Ribeiro siblings, plus the hive queens and some of the key fathertrees from the Luso Colonies. And Peter.

If, at any point, Starways reform seemed critical and absolutely necessary, Peter would propose a resolution reinstating the once-upon-a-time office of Hegemon.

And then he would take it.

Except this office would be far greater than even Varsam's first uncle Peter the Hegemon's position. It would separate an executive power from the Congress and allow influence over all of the Hundred Worlds, including Earth, with limited control over the scores of colony planets as well. His mother Valentine said it was possible. She had been present for some of the conception talks where Starways was actually created, a couple millennia ago. The position of Hegemon had come up for consideration at one point, but was dismissed for fear of what it could become in the wrong hands, and for the simple fact that there was no one believed capable of equaling the greatness of Hegemon Peter (though his various descendants begged to differ).

All of these political machinations revolved around the relationship between the Lusos and Starways, and that was why the discussions in Milagre were taking so long. One wrong move now could have horrible results.

Varsam sympathized with Tredje; he really did. They were trying to find a way to figure out what had happened to the travelers from the International Fleet ship. But their contacts had dried up, and the essays that his mother and siblings were writing on security were delicate enough to avoid accusation, not strong enough to confront the issue.

When the group paused for lunch, Varsam decided he was tired of waiting. He pulled aside his brother Ren, Tredje's father.

"This is a fairly sticky situation," Ren groaned to Varsam. He slumped down in a chair. "Everywhere you look, another pit fall or sand trap or whatever political nonsense about Starways is happening this week. I honestly don't know how you can work there."

"You write about it," pointed out Varsam.

"Yes, but at least I can have a little perspective that way, and not have to play along with that smörja myself. I think that's why Mom never got into it."

"She'd be a great politician if she wanted to," agreed Varsam. He looked around, then sat down next to Ren. "To tell you the truth, though, I don't think even Peter the First could sort through this mess. We're getting nowhere. And those travelers could be in trouble."

Lowering his voice, Ren asked, "Getting a bit antsy, little brother? Want to get into some action?" He smirked. "I was half expecting you to throw a fit and storm out hours ago."

"You know as well as I do that direct action is the best way to manage this," said Varsam, leaning over in his chair. "One, maybe two people just glancing around the scene, checking it out, casing the joint."

"Casing the joint?"

"Peter said that once. A couple sets of eyes, looking about the Liberdade port…not very conspicuous…"

"You want me to go with you. You want to play private-eye," scoffed Ren.

"Hey, it can't hurt anything. And we might actually accomplish something."

"Fine," said Ren, standing up. "I'll do it. Just to keep you busy. But one thing."

"Great!" Varsam gripped his brother's shoulder. "What?"

"We bring Tredje along. He's been so frustrated, not being able to watch the talks. And he should be able to help; he's practically memorized the spaceport."

"A little ego-soothing for your son, Ren? You're right though; he'll help. Fine with me."

"My son's sense of self-worth is fine. It's my brother who has the big head and thinks he can solve the big grown-up problem all by himself," grinned Ren. "How do you know the officials are even holding them on Liberdade, anyway?"

"I don't. But that's where it gets exciting, eh?" Varsam laughed.

- - - - - -

The darkness was the worst part. Sandy had bruises from crawling into corners and bumping his head on different parts of the vent. But the twins kept going, for what felt like hours in that confined space.

It had turned out that the vent entrance they had found was apparently unique in that its cover was easily removed. Sandy was in a mild state of panic; after discovering three different outlets, the twins could get out of none of them.

"Julian must have loosened that cover," he said to Skya now. "We just aren't strong enough to open one ourselves."

"It's okay," Skya whispered. "There has to be a way out somewhere. One of these covers will be loose, or we'll reach a maintenance access point probably. If we can't get out, then we'll start screaming." She shuffled along the cool metal surface.

"That's pretty lousy, crying for help in the middle of our great escape plan."

"What plan? Feels to me like we're just crawling along."

"That can be a plan," said Sandy. "Just keep going." He glimpsed a bit of light ahead. "Looks like another cover. Let's go see if we can open it."

When the twins reached the light, they blinked in the brightness. Sandy felt his way around the cover, and pushed, but this one was set in as firmly as the other three. However, the slats in this one were bigger. He could get his hand through them. And something else; this one wasn't just fitted. It had screws that held it in place.

Skya watched. "Could you reach the screws? With your hand?" she hissed.

"I'm trying…Yes! Yes, but barely." Sandy's hand slipped over the outside of the cover. He touched the screw and dug his fingernails into it. With a grunt, he moved it, unscrewing it very slightly. On his next try it moved about the same distance.

"This is going to take forever," complained Skya.

"I don't know if we have any other choice," Sandy said. Peering through the slats, he could see that it was a corridor that seemed skinny and sterile. "This is a service hallway or something. It looks empty. I think this might be the best way to go." He kept moving the screw. "But you're right, it'll be a long time."

Skya reached through the slats and felt another one of the screws. "Let's hurry, then!"

- - - - - -

Each twist of the screw wrenched Sandy's arm. He was crammed into the opening next to his sister. Some time in, his fingers began feeling raw and started to bleed; his fingernails were chipping on the metal. On top of all of that, the vent had begun to blow cold air. The twins shivered in the breeze. "Come on," urged Skya, prying at a screw, "Come on, open!" She had already loosened one of the screws; but they were far from finished.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed through the corridor. Quickly the twins pulled their hands back in, just before a couple turned the corner, talking quietly. Sandy's heart raced.

"Nice day you picked to visit, Katrien. Sorry about dragging you along on security check. We are almost done," a man in the garb of a security officer said to his companion.

The woman, Katrien, laughed. "You're dwaas! Anything is more exciting than classes, especially end-of-term classes. Why don't I switch you and walk down scary hallways while you earn my degree for me?" Skya sharply sucked in a breath. Sandy glanced at her, then followed her line of sight. Lying on the floor of the hallway was the single screw they had loosened, in plain sight.

Sandy thought about crawling back into the vent, but he and Skya were still closely pressed together, and any motion was sure to make a sound against the metal. His breath drew short and he prayed for invisibility as the pair walked closer. The man was speaking louder now. "Willem Keese, earn a degree? You live in a dream world, dear sister. The day I earn a degree, I will have sworn off sleep forever. I have problems enough as it is."

"But end-of-term is the time where your brain shuts down anyhow. Last night was a wonderful sleep! Ik sliep als 'n roos!"

"Good for you," said Security Guard Willem. "But I still would die in the quest to get your degree. So scary hallways it is." A sharp ping suddenly echoed through the hallway. Sandy closed his eyes. The single screw had been hit by the guard's boot and had ricocheted down the hallway.

"What…?" said Willem, bending over. "Where did this…" He abruptly turned to the vent. Sandy looked straight into his eyes. "_Zeg_!" exclaimed the guard. "It's them!" He shone a light into the vent. "Don't move!" he ordered.

"Oh, they're children!" Katrien said. "Will, you're scaring them."

Sandy frantically struggled, trying to dislodge himself from Skya. He heard reports from a gun behind him—Willem forcefully opening the vent. Freeing himself from his wedged position, Sandy lunged back towards the darkness. He heard his sister yell, and looked back to see her pulled out into the hallway by the guard. Suddenly, he was torn. He couldn't escape without Skya!

Katrien slapped her brother. "You're such a bully!" She looked into the vent. "Hello, ventje. Little one. Come out; I won't let him hurt you."

Sandy trembled, but did not move.

"What do you want with these, anyway?" Katrien demanded of her brother. "They are too small to be a danger to you. What use could they be?"

Willem held tightly to Skya's arms. "I don't know. But we've taken their family under arrest. They should go too."

"You can't go blaming children for the mistakes of their parents, Will. They shouldn't be under arrest. They should be in foster care, if their family is taken. You don't even know _why_ the family was taken. I'm not going to let you throw these young ones in jail or wherever your superiors think confinement is. It's cruel."

"I could lose my job," said Willem. "I can't just send them away without orders."

"Then I will take them," Katrien decided, "and I will be responsible for them. You tell your managers that I have taken the children, and that they should deal with me if they want to challenge for custody or whatever they want. My friends and I can care for them until their parents are released. We run a foster program as part of our duties. Perfectly legal, and certainly more legal than anything your people wish to do."

Willem was speechless. "But Kat…"

Katrien ignored him. "Is that okay, ventje?" she called to Sandy. "We have a wonderful place for you to stay, away from this mess, and you can be back with your family when everything is back to normal. Both of you," she said in a soothing voice, turning to Skya. "Let go of her, Willem."

Sandy watched as Katrien took Skya's hand and ran a hand over his sister's hair. Katrien continued to speak, but Sandy looked to Skya. She gave him a look, the one that said "Why not?" The boy thought quickly. Going with the woman would mean escaping the building, and the security officials as well. But they would be leaving the family, and Sandy had never been away from them before. It could be dangerous. Then again, staying with Willem the guard didn't seem any safer. More opportunity for escape seemed possible with the woman.

Well, it wasn't great, but it was a solution. And it would certainly mean going out into the world and meeting new people. Sandy's daredevil side made the choice for him, and he crawled from the vent.

"Okay," he said in a small voice. "Let's go."

* * *

_Author's Endnote: Thank you for reading my first fanfic attempt. It would be terrific if you would be willing to review my work—Reviews let me know what to write for you guys! Tell me what you think, and I hope to be updating more frequently in the next few months!_

_-Koraden_


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